>Badassery Carries a High Price

>I decided a few weeks ago that I would try and do the 20th Annual Grizzly Triathlon. That was a mistake, because now I can’t back out and maintain any self respect at all. I came to this realization last night as I was laboring around the indoor track at the gym, when if I had half a brain I could have been home ogling a basement full of bellydancers who were training at my house. That was the second night in a row I traded exercise (Monday was my indoor soccer game) for eye-fulls of flesh. What is wrong with me?

This year the big projects Julia and I are taking on are health/physical in nature. I’m doing the triathlon, which is April 12th, and probably the 10K Riverbank Run (April 26th). Julia’s project is some special week-long bellydance training/certification thing that I don’t really understand, but is pretty hardcore, provided by some high speed dancer/instructor named Suhaila Salimpour. She will spend a week in Berkeley, CA, and if she passes the course she will have Level 2 certification. Or something like that, it all sounds vaguely D&D to me. A friend of ours, Geneva Bybee, took these courses, got all the certification, and now literally travels the world training people; that is who was in our basement leading some dancers through some training. When I got home last night after 4 miles on the track they looked more spent than I felt, and I felt pretty friggin’ spent. The whole thing is pretty awesome, and intense when it comes to difficulty and conditioning.

Besides the physical part of getting ready for my events is the gear requirements. I swam a mile in the pool yesterday for the first time, and realized I’m going to need some of those funky little goggles to keep my contacts from washing out. Maybe even some noseplugs. I refuse to wear the goofy cap though. The swimming part of the triathlon is 1000 meters. I can do that, just not very fast, yet. The bike part I can also do, I have been hitting the bike hard at the gym, and it’s only 12.something miles. I can probably even do that part pretty fast, especially if I make a point to run any of those skinny, lanky types in the garish spandex off the road when they try and pass me. Thing is, Sid took my bike somewhere last year and it was stolen, so I will need to buy a bike before long. And the running part . . . I need some shoes. I have been running in my hiking boots, and they just don’t do the trick. My last pair of running shoes wore out last summer and I’ve been exclusively in hiking boots since. At least this is all stuff I’ll be able to use a lot. Still, it’s a pain in my ass.

The other thing I’ve been doing is a weekly yoga class. How I allowed myself to get talked into this one is beyond me. I feel like a total idiot, and I’m nowhere near a point with it yet where I am feeling any benefit. I hide way in the back corner. Some of the poses have everyone turned my way, and there is a mirror right there, and I’m certain everyone is staring at me and ridiculing my poor form and horrific flexibility. I’m the largest, fattest body in there; the crotch on my shorts is half blown out, my frayed workout shirt rides up over my belly, my face is red, my hair is half in, half out of its ponytail, and I’m usually wielding a haven’t-shaved-since-Monday-Friday-evening face. Goddamn. I know few of the forms by name, so I always have my head up to watch the instructor, and I’m paranoid a woman in front of me is going to think I’m totally looking at her ass while in a compromised position. It is the most stressful hour of my week, I think. And humiliating. I feel like inviting the whole class out to the weight room afterwards so I can show them how much I can bench press. Thing is, pound for pound they are probably all stronger than me too.

>Oh, for crying out loud. I’m pretty envious of your winter excursions by ski and snowshoe (especially the latter, which I have never done). It may sound like a big deal, but I’m just as likely to strain a muscle shoving another slice of pizza down my gullet as I am tripping over myself trying to catch the old lady who just blew by me on the running track.

>Yes, but I only exercise when I’m going to have fun–you know, like hiking to Jerry Johnson, wandering the woods in search of morels or huckleberries, or skiing at Lolo Pass. To me, the words “gym” and “fun” do not belong in the same sentence. So to me, you’re hardcore.

>Who is Jerry Johnson, and why do you have to hike to meet him? Is this some illicit romance thing?”Hardcore” is the fact that after about having my shorts fall down in the pool every time I kicked off the wall today, I’m thinking of some of those painted-on speedos. Maybe even the American flag print. Yeah, baby!I don’t much enjoy the gym either. I enjoy the feeling afterwards that I went and did something rather than stay home; as much as I drag my feet to go, I feel very guilty if I don’t. And it is mostly a winter thing because it gets dark so early. When it’s summer, there is more opportunity for “fun” exercise because there is more daylight.

>”I pledge allegiance ….”I’ve been forcing myself to hike up my hill the last couple of days. It’s pretty much a gym out my back door.And I will eventually join the Women’s Club if I can get settled into a productive routine. Rebecca, was Jerry Johnson that guy you were making out with behind the tree?

>Well, because right now Highway 12 is closed beyond Lolo Pass. To get to Jerry Johnson, we’ll need to drive another 30 miles. Don’t worry, I’m an annual visitor. If you’re friends with me, sooner or later I’ll take you to Jerry Johnson.